The End is Where We Begin Maria Goodin (best classic romance novels .TXT) 📖

God, I’m glad I don’t drink if that’s what blokes become after a few pints. He’s not a bad guy really, always friendly and harmless enough, but still, I suddenly have an urge to grab him by the throat and chuck him over the wall into the canal.

“Do you want to…?” I find myself suddenly saying, gesturing somewhere else, anywhere else.

Libby looks longingly in the direction of the canal.

“Actually, do you want to take a walk?” she asks, tentatively, gesturing to the steps in the corner of the terrace that lead down to the towpath.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, so desperate to be out of here and away from all these people that I’m not even worrying about what Libby and I will say to each other or how awkward it’s bound to be.

“Thanks,” she smiles, gratefully, and I realise that she probably was genuinely pleased to see me arrive. We might be out of touch, but at least I’m not a complete stranger. She grabs her half-empty wine glass from the table and then stands expectantly in front of me, waiting for me to lead the way.

“You can’t take that off the premises,” I tell her, realising I sound like a complete killjoy. “Stu’s the one who gets in trouble…”

“Oh, of course!” she says. She takes a gulp of the wine, examines the glass, clearly decides it’s not worth leaving the rest, and downs that, too. She places the glass back on the table, squeezes her eyes tightly shut and grimaces.

“Oooh… bad idea. I’m not really used to drinking.”

“You okay?”

She nods, and I lead the way through the gathering towards the steps, quickly checking my phone on the way. Still nothing. I drop Michael another quick message.

Text me U R OK

“Michael was going to come tonight, but he’s not well,” I say over my shoulder. “He would have liked to have seen you.”

“Oh, that’s a shame, I would have liked to see him, too,” she says, sounding genuinely disappointed. “I was looking at all the photos of him and his band on the pub wall. God, he looks so different! And I hear he’s really good.”

“He’s amazing.”

“Oh, what do you think so far?” asks Libby, just as we reach the top of the steps.

I turn to her blankly, and she gestures the length of the terrace wall. With all the bodies blocking my view, I hadn’t even noticed the bricks have been painted white. Well, half have been painted white.

“Er… well… not much to go on so far…” I say, trying to be polite.

“No, I thought I’d at least have the base done today,” she says with a thoughtful frown, “but it’s taking somewhat longer than I thought it would.”

“Yeah. Well, it’s a long wall,” I say, following it with my eyes around the perimeter of the terrace.

“It is indeed,” she nods with a grimace. “I’m not sure if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. So, you know, if you enjoy painting and have a spare hour or so, feel free…”

I’m pretty sure she’s joking, but I have a frustrating need to jump to people’s assistance – my sister, Josh, Michael, my dad, my clients – I end up running myself ragged half the time trying to help them all out.

“Yeah, sure,” I shrug, “I can come down tomorrow. I’ll get Josh along as well, it’ll keep him out of trouble.”

What?! What am I saying? Now we’re going to be painting a wall together? This is just too weird. Isn’t it?

“Oh,” says Libby, clearly taken aback. “I was just kidding, you don’t have to do that.”

She looks a little embarrassed and now I feel awkward. Of course she was only kidding.

“Oh, okay, sorry, I wasn’t sure if you were being serious or—”

“Although, actually, I mean, if you guys are free…”

“Yeah. So long as it’s just a case of slapping a bit of white paint on.”

“Well, great, if you’re sure?”

No. No I’m not sure. I have absolutely no idea what’s happening here. One minute we’re taking a walk, now we’re going to be painting a wall together. What the hell have I started?

“Shall we…?” I say, gesturing to the steps.

“After you.”

I hesitate, letting a group of women come up from the canal path. They’re made up for a night out; skintight jeans, strappy tops, hair knotted up… Ah, crap. Rachel.

“Hello, stranger,” she smiles, greeting me at the top of the steps with a hand on the shoulder and a kiss on the cheek. In heels, she’s almost as tall as me. “I assume you lost my number, or…?”

I’m embarrassed that I forgot to text her back. “Rachel, I’m so sorry, things have been manic and—”

“Don’t worry,” she smiles, playfully punching me on the arm, clearly having regained her chilled-out Aussie demeanour. I wonder now if Stu was winding me up, telling me she was angry at me. She’s always seemed so laid-back. “Although I have been hoping to bump into you.”

She cocks her head to one side, her shiny lips curling at one corner in a sexy smile, her smoky eyes running over my face. God, Stu was right, she really is incredibly hot.

“I had a good time the other night,” she says, “I was hoping we might be able to do it again sometime.”

I shift awkwardly, wondering how that must sound to Libby who’s hovering behind me.

“Umm… yeah,” I say, scratching at my neck, “why not?”

“Great. So, do you want to buy me a drink?”

“I… actually I was just going to get a bit of space for a minute,” I tell her, glancing down at the towpath.

She comes in close and places her fingers gently on my forearm. “Do you want some company?” she asks, smiling coyly.

“Actually,” I say glancing back at Libby, who is waiting patiently, “we were just—”

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Rachel says, more to Libby than to me. She quickly removes her hand from my arm as if she’s been touching something that doesn’t belong to her.

“No, it’s fine, we’re just…